


How Bad Is It?

by Zombiiewrites



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Rough Sex, Roughness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-19 06:07:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1458787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zombiiewrites/pseuds/Zombiiewrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This has happened probably three times before. Cas loses control of his wings—whether it be accidental or to intimidate an enemy during a stand off like this time around—and his vessel goes batshit crazy. Hormones go berserk, libido skyrockets, and Dean is left with one insatiably horny and domineering angel. When Castiel gets like this, he has no filter, no shame; he is reduced to the primal urges of his vessel and the need to control. To say Dean hates when this happens would be a complete and total lie. That said, he understands the repercussions of pressing one too many angel buttons…which is exactly why he does it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Bad Is It?

He hears the not-so-steady thump of his heartbeat drumming harshly in his ears, feels the veins in his neck pulsate wildly with every erratic inhale. The taste of copper lingers on his teeth and tongue—each deep intake of air offering little relief to the arid heat of his mouth.

His vision focuses sporadically and his hands ball into tight fists despite the threat being eliminated. The rain has stopped, but the petrichor emanating from the gravely concrete beneath his feet fills his nostrils forcibly. Epinephrine and Dopamine course through his vessel expeditiously and his body reacts accordingly, igniting one nerve at a time.

All it takes is one look—one look at the fine specimen that is Dean Winchester—for the levees to break and for whatever composure Castiel has left to crumble. 

His chest is still heaving, wiggling loose any stray beads of sweat still clinging to his neck and collarbones. “Dean.” The name falls from his lips like a cinder block, voice hoarse with lust and practically trembling.

Castiel’s gaze remains unphased for the most part, just silently tailing Dean when the hunter finally takes the hint and advances towards him. “How bad is it?” Dean asks gruffly, barely able to get his words out before there is a hand gripping his jaw and a sea of brilliant blue staring daggers into him.

"Don’t ask stupid questions," Cas practically spits back, fingers tensing against the other man’s stubble covered jaw. 

"So, bad?" The smile on Dean’s face falters when he is once against met with Cas’ less than pleased expression. Sighing, he takes a quick glance around and then looks towards Castiel expectantly. "Well," Dean starts, "pick the place." 

Barely a second passes before Cas’ hand wraps around one of Dean’s biceps and they are transported back to their motel room. Considering the where they were just moments earlier, Sam and the Impala wont be back for at least another hour which is hopefully enough time to sate the beast that is Castiel—Castiel after his wings have been ejected, to be exact. 

This has happened probably three times before. Cas loses control of his wings—whether it be accidental or to intimidate an enemy during a stand off like this time around—and his vessel goes batshit crazy. Hormones go berserk, libido skyrockets, and Dean is left with one insatiably horny and domineering angel. When Castiel gets like this, he has no filter, no shame; he is reduced to the primal urges of his vessel and the need to control. To say Dean hates when this happens would be a complete and total lie. That said, he understands the repercussions of pressing one too many angel buttons…which is exactly why he does it. 

The minute they are alone, Cas is shoving Dean up against the wall hard enough for the generic impressionist landscape painting beside him to fall and crash against the floor. “There goes the deposit,” Dean grunts out with slight annoyance, eyes raising to meet with his angel’s as Cas closes the distance between them. He’s already loosening the tie around his neck. “You’re not even going to buy me dinner first?” Dean persists, smirking mischievously when he catches that dangerous gleam in the other man’s eye.

"Don’t be cute," Cas hisses through his teeth, one hand wrapping around Dean’s throat and the other effortlessly unfastening the button on his own slacks. 

Dean yearns to make another joke but the tightening digits around his neck makes it impossible to speak, or breathe for that matter. He manages a cracked, “Cas,” and digs his nails into the angel’s wrists until he’s released and shoved back against the wall again for good measure. 

Despite Cas’ abrasive and seemingly loveless treatment, Dean is grinning by the time the angel frees himself from his trousers and steps towards him again. Dean has managed to discard his shirt once he’s cornered again but not much else. Castiel closes his hand around Dean’s upper arm and fits his fingers with the fading, red hand print there. His eyes rake over the hunter possessively, teeth gnashing behind pursed lips when Dean reaches forward to wrap his thick fingers around Castiel’s swollen erection. The simple touch elicits the most titillating, guttural sound from somewhere deep in Cas’ throat. 

He bucks forward into Dean’s closed hand and gulps heavily when he finally begins to stroke him slow and steady. “Dean,” Castiel growls warningly, dissatisfaction brewing in his gut at the lagging pace. 

"Yes?" Dean’s wearing that puckered smile when Castiel’s eyes refocus, eyes glinting with intention and his hand making no effort to give into Castiel’s silent demands for more. 

"Do not test me." Castiel punctuates his threat by tangling a hand in Dean’s hair and pushing him onto his knees forcefully. Before the overconfident hunter can make another snarky retort, Cas pulls him in and holds Dean’s head to his thigh tightly. With a firm grip on the base of his own member, he taps it against the other man’s lips until they part accommodatingly. Dean’s eyes lift to meet Cas’ heavy downward stare as he feeds him his cock, fingers tensing against his cheek to keep him in place. 

"Fuck," Cas exhales. His eyes nearly flutter shut at the mere sight of Dean’s full lips wrapped around the girth of his dick and those emerald eyes beaming up at him. "What else can you do with that mouth besides vocalize your disobedience?" Castiel’s already easing Dean on and off of his throbbing sex; the pace is just as slow as before but the sinking feeling in the angel’s belly has long dissolved. 

It isn’t about how fast. It isn’t about how hard. It’s about power. It’s about fucking Dean into submission. Coincidentally, the two go hand in hand. 

Dean never pegged Castiel for a dirty talker and by normal standards, he isn’t. Fortunately, Dean is anything but normal. He could be reading from a damn dictionary and Dean swears he can get off from that gravely voice alone. Cas has this…meticulous way of picking Dean apart word by word. It isn’t just the content or the way he says it, it’s a combination of both—this perfect balance of deep, beautiful, purposeful filth.

The solid hand keeping Dean flush against Cas’ thigh gradually slides to cup the back of his head while the other glides over the top, soothing back the damp hair there. Castiel continues rocking back and forth while sluggishly pulling Dean forward with each lazy thrust. The angel’s eyes remain fixated on his stuffed face, admiring the freckles on his full cheeks and the way his nostrils flare when he inhales sharply. 

"This is such a good look on you, Dean. On your knees. Entirely at my discretion," Cas breathes, the blues of his eyes now just rings around each blown out pupil. The praise, however, is short-lived. Not a moment later, Dean very carefully and very deliberately grazes his teeth against the rigid cock in his mouth—not enough to cause pain but hard enough to make his point. A point Castiel is quick to rectify. 

Exhaling angrily, the angel slides his free hand to the front of Dean’s face and casually pinches his nose between his thumb and index finger. Naturally, Dean doesn’t give Cas the satisfaction immediately; instead, he closes his lips around the other’s cock and continues to bob his head as habitually as before, doing his best to ignore the oxygen seeping from his lungs.

Castiel watches amusedly, his lips curled into a barely-there smirk at the corner, as Dean screws his eyes shut from the strain only to cave a moment later and gasp around his cock. Seizing the opportunity, Cas tightens the grip on his hair and begins to snap his hips forward at a heavier rhythm, all the while pinching his nose. What his thrusts lack in speed are more than made up for in force which is more than apparent by every beautiful gag and the way Dean’s nails dig into him.

Every withdrawal of Castiel’s manhood leaves Dean inhaling and gasping for air. His hands grip at the angel’s powerful thighs and push slightly against them but Cas doesn’t let up. He continues to fuck the hunter’s throat, sliding in deep and never pulling out entirely. The mixture of drool and precome dribbling down Dean’s chin and polishing his dick only drives him further. Dean’s eyes are tearing from the pressure but he continues to swallow him hungrily even as moisture forms at his canthi and spills down his cheeks, all the while locked on Cas’ burning sapphires. 

Once Castiel is satisfied with Dean’s behavior and eagerness, he takes minimal pity on him and releases his nose. He breaths out a short laugh when Dean inhales as though he’s been underwater for an hour but doesn’t slow his momentum; he continues to pull Dean into his hard thrusts as brutally as before. “Not hearing any more back talk now, am I?” Castiel gloats, hissing through his teeth when he plunges in extra deep and opts to hold Dean’s head there.

Cas’ head cranes back strenuously at the sensation of being ball’s deep down the hunter’s throat. A genuine smile graces his lips when he feels Dean swallowing against him, contracting that unbelievably tight throat against his engorged member every other second or so. “So good for me, Dean,” Castiel praises again, breath hitching once as he finally releases his grip on the other man’s head and Dean slides off of him with a crude pop. 

He gives the other man a small breather, taking the moment to admire his hot mess of a lover while he works himself towards his climax, hand sliding over his wet cock with ease. Dean stares up at him, panting heavily and wiping his glistening mouth with his forearm as Castiel strokes himself just inches from his face. 

"You want all this come, Dean? Do you think you earned it?" Castiel grunts, squinting down at the exhausted hunter and somehow managing to keep his composure despite the fact he is just seconds from his orgasm. 

"Hell yeah," Dean replies breathlessly, eyes glazed over with need to finish what he started. He licks his lips in anticipation and continues to gaze up at Castiel with lustful determination. 

Castiel’s combing his fingers through Dean’s hair a moment later, towering over him. “Open your mouth, sweetheart,” Cas lets out, hoarsely, using that pet name he knows Dean secretly loves. Dean obliges immediately and grips at the stained, motel carpet apprehensively, fitting his mouth loosely around the tip of Castiel’s member and savoring the weight of it on his tongue.

A few strokes later and Cas is coming with a growl. His powerful thighs tense and shudder as strings of white, hot come splash over Dean’s lips and waiting tongue. He watches adoringly as his hunter swallows and laps at the head of his cock before wrapping his lips around him once more and milking him for every last drop. “Such a greedy mouth,” Castiel grunts, watching Dean through half-lidded eyes as he licks him clean. 

Satisfied, Cas takes a step back and tucks his softening cock back into his slacks with a content sigh, already beginning to come down from his wing induced high. 

"What about me?" Dean lets out in a deep whine, staring up at Cas expectantly. 

Castiel zips his fly and looks up at him with a quirked brow, his own posture languid now and his breathing under control. “Hm? Oh.” His eyes fall to Dean’s not so little problem and then dart back to those needy green eyes.

"How bad is it?" Cas replies simply, biting back a smirk.


End file.
